Down the memory lane #002
The 12 seasons
Where I was born there were only two seasons of the year. Either it was hot or it was cold. That simple. And this is very curious when you are a child because one of the first things we learn at school is that on planet earth there are 4 seasons. In theory everything is very beautiful: in spring the plants bloom, in summer the heat dominates, in autumn the leaves fall and in winter the cold reigns. But for me, living in a tropical country, the concept of the 4 seasons was exactly that: just a concept that lived in school books or inside my television.
It's no wonder that when I moved to New York, a place that in theory has 4 defined seasons, I was so enchanted by each one of them. The extremes of each season happen every year without exception, the seasons are not the least bit shy, they always arrive without delay on the day marked on the calendar. You have the chance to watch the spectacle of each one of them exactly as described in geography and science books. You feel the pollen dominating the air, you see the tulips sprouting from one day to the next, you feel the sweat running down your body, the days getting longer, the midday sun frying the asphalt. The heavy summer air gets tired at the end of September and gives way to a cool autumn breeze, the leaves begin to dry and the city is in a beautiful red and gold color. All of a sudden all the trees are bare and the only sound you can hear is the sound of the wind dragging the leaves that are all fallen to the ground, the first snowflakes fall, the sky turns blue deep and the cool breeze of autumn gives way to the biting wind of winter. It's a beautiful show.